


Sing Me A Salty Blue Song, I'll Be Gone

by SpartanGuard



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Folk Music, Mermaids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28150299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/pseuds/SpartanGuard
Summary: A mermaid becomes captivated by the voice of a fisherman, and is fairly certain she's in love with him, despite not having seen him. But maybe the tokens of love she leaves on his fish hook will get her message across.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 65





	Sing Me A Salty Blue Song, I'll Be Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this gorgeous piece of art: https://liridi.tumblr.com/post/637240521581101056/mermaid-in-love-with-the-local-fisherman

Sailors had no shortage of tales and stories of the mythical beings that lived in the sea. Spend any amount of time in a seaside village and one was apt to hear stories of krakens, kelpies, white whales, and, most often, merfolk.

The stories of men being drawn in by their sweet song, alluring form, and general entrancement were as numerous as drops of water in the Irish Sea. Nearly every seafaring man had a story about them, or about one of his crew who was lost to the depths in an attempt to reach his desired siren. They all knew better and yet, the stories persisted: merfolk brought nothing to humans but death.

Except one, though. (As with most stories, there’s always one exception.) In a tiny cove near a tiny village, one mermaid—despite being raised on stories of man’s deprivation and violence—had somehow fallen hard and fast for one. At least, Emma thought she had; she’d honestly never even seen his face. But she heard his song as he sat in his dinghy, and she was captivated by the sorrow and joy his voice carried.

The first time she’d heard it, it had been impossible for her to stay away—although the hook from his fishing line did scare her off when it scratched her. But she learned to keep a healthy distance—to stay in the shadow of his boat, lest she be discovered—so she could listen close.

_I am stretched on your grave_ _  
_ _And I'll lie here forever_ _  
_ _If you hands were in mine_ _  
_ _I'd be sure they would not sever_ _  
_ _My apple tree, my brightness_ _  
_ _It's time we were together_ _  
_ _For I smell of the Earth_ _  
_ _And I'm worn by the weather._

Though her view of him was watery at best, his voice somehow sounded clear through the waves, accompanied by the gentle plucking of his instrument. The heartbreak in the lyrics was echoed in his tone and she wanted nothing more than to soothe his pain. She knew what it was like to lose a love like that; it was why she—and so many of her kind—were alone. 

But most others let their ability to love die with their loved ones. Emma thought the same was true for her, until she heard this man’s voice and felt her heart flutter back to life. 

Though it wasn’t much, she felt the need to thank him for sharing a part of his soul with her, whether it was intentional or not. She dug through the bag she kept tied to her hip and found a small, round coin; she had no idea if it had any value or not, but its round shape and hollowed center made it perfect for slipping onto his fish hook. She gave a little tug as she did then dove to the depths, out of sight.

It became something of a tradition; at least, for her it did. She had to assume he was carrying on with his life as normal and having poor luck when it came to fishing. But oh, she lived for the days she saw the outline of his hooker on the surface.

_He was tall and strong, could sing a song_ _  
_ _That would delight your heart to hear._ _  
_ _His eyes were bright, his step was light,_ _  
_ _And his voice was sweet and clear._ _  
_ _He could handle a spade or court a maid,_ _  
_ _The fairest of them all._ _  
_ _Ah, but he was inclined to leave behind_ _  
_ _This girl from Donegal._

Was he singing about himself, she wondered? (Though his humble career didn’t seem to lend itself to such vanity.) Or maybe a sweetheart? (Gods below, she selfishly hoped not.) It was hard to tell when the tune was upbeat like this one; perhaps he was just singing for the sake of singing. Regardless, it was nice to hear him upbeat; the lively tunes were greatly outnumbered by the sad ones. 

For that song, she gave him a red stone set into a ring of metal; again, she had no idea of its value, but the way it sparkled in the light had always entertained her, and maybe it would him, too.

_My young love said to me "My mother won't mind_ _  
_ _And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind"_ _  
_ _And she laid her hand on me and this she did say_ _  
_ _"Oh, it will not be long, love, till our wedding-day"_

_And she went away from me and moved through the fair_ _  
_ _And fondly I watched her move here and move there_ _  
_ _And then she went onward, just one star awake_ _  
_ _Like the swan in the evening moves over the lake_

It was sunset and she could hear the wistfulness in his tone; it was enough to make her want to float to the surface and take in the sun’s last rays, warm on her skin, and let his equally balmy voice wash over her. But that was apt to give her away and likely frighten him off, and she’d rather have this than nothing at all.

She had found a polished ring of silver earlier that day, weatherworn but still shiny. She wondered what he thought of these useless trinkets when she left them behind; perhaps it was more for her own mind than his that she left them at all, but it felt rude to take in his performance and not let him know how much she appreciated it. Perhaps she’d yet find a way to let him know how she truly felt, but there was no rush.

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

_Last night she came to me, my dead love came in_ _  
_ _So softly she came that her feet made no din_ _  
_ _And she laid her hand on me and this she did say_ _  
_ _"Oh, it will not be long, love, till our wedding-day"_

Killian waited for a minute after finishing the tune, his eyes locked on his fishing rod. Sure enough, it bobbed down a moment later. He was quick to pull up the line, wondering what today would bring him: a delicate ring, its features long worn away by the elements but still of some value. 

He was growing a number of these small baubles of varying value. Truth be told, if he wasn’t going to catch any fish, he should probably sell them; but he hadn’t any debts and would likely pull up something at some point here, so he instead slipped the ring onto his thumb, where it clinked against the other ring she’d given him a few weeks ago. On his belt was a small pouch filled with the other various coins and stones she’d been giving him. But the one thing he longed to see was her face.

Mermaids, it turned out, were not as good at subtlety as they thought; he could see the sun glinting off her emerald green scales when she approached, and was keenly aware of the way she floated under his boat, seemingly out of sight. Every sailor’s instinct in him warned that he should be keeping her away; he knew all the stories (though most were tall tales). But there was something exceedingly endearing about a creature who listened to him sing and showed her appreciation for it in the only way she knew how.

This song hadn’t enticed her to the surface; but he was yet determined to find the one that would.

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

_Your hills and dales and flowery vales_ _  
_ _That lie near the Moorlough Shore_ _  
_ _Your vines that blow by Borden's grove_ _  
_ _Will I ever see you more_ _  
_ _Where the primrose glows_ _  
_ _And the violet grows_ _  
_ _Where the trout and salmon play_ _  
_ _With my line and hook delight I took_ _  
_ _To spend my youthful days_

Gods below, did he know she was there? He seemed to be singing right to her today. She was already nervous enough for what she was about to do. But she was weary of staying in the shadows, though she knew it might be met with rejection.

_Last night I went to see my love_ _  
_ _And to hear what she might say_ _  
_ _To see if she'd take pity on me_ _  
_ _Lest I might go away_ _  
_ _She said, "I loved an Irish lad,_ _  
_ _And he was my only joy,_ _  
_ _and ever since I saw his face_ _  
_ _I have loved that soldier boy"_

Was that himself he sang of? Curse her lack of knowledge on human society. Perhaps she should spend more time reading this book...no, no; she was overthinking. She tended to do that. 

As he continued to sing, she fought with his line a bit; it was harder to push the hook through the leather binding than she thought. But hopefully, he’d get the message. 

Normally, she put a fair amount of distance between them as quickly as she could, but this time, she hung back to watch as he reeled in the tome. To her surprise, she could make out his form peering into the water on either side of his boat, but she was likely still too far down for him to see. 

Still—she took that as a positive. And maybe next time, she’d have the confidence for more. 

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

_Perhaps your soldier lad is lost_ _  
_ _Sailing over the sea of Maine_ _  
_ _Or perhaps he's gone with some other one_ _  
_ _You may never see him again_ _  
_ _Well if my Irish lad is lost,_ _  
_ _He's the one I do adore,_ _  
_ _And seven years I'll wait for him_ _  
_ _By the banks of the Moorlough shore_

He could see the line going crazy as he sang that last verse; just what was she up to today? But he waited for it to fall slack before pulling it up. 

It was definitely heavier than usual; maybe he had actually caught a fish? No—he saw the glitter of her tail, he knew he did. 

He finally drew up the end of the line, and to his astonishment, it was a book—of sonnets, no less. He didn’t dare to thumb through it, wet as it was (and kept the hook at the end of his left arm far from the damp parchment), but he was touched by the gesture. 

And hoped he could infer the meaning behind the heart freshly carved into the front cover. 

There was a good place where the book could dry on the hearth in his cottage. Maybe once it had aired out, he’d find the perfect song to bring her near. 

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

The next several days saw a rough storm blow through. Emma was both praying he’d stay ashore and terrified he wouldn’t. She spent each one searching the waves, looking for his dinghy, and thanked all the gods of the sea she never did, even if her heart ached without his voice. 

Gods, she was in deep. In all meanings of that phrase. 

But then, on a bright day after the storm had broken up, she heard it. 

_As they marched through the town with their banners so gay_ _  
_ _I went to the window to hear the band play_

She shot through the water like a dart, stopping herself hastily before she crashed into the hull. 

_And I peeped through the blinds very cautiously then,_ _  
_ _Lest the neighbors should say I was looking at the men._

She took a deep breath and floated to the side of the boat, and poked her head above the surface. 

_I heard the drum beat and the music so sweet,_ _  
_ _But my eyes at that moment caught a much greater treat_

Emma bit back a gasp when she finally laid eyes on him—he was as beautiful as his voice, possibly more. Dark, musssed hair hung over a face that was surely carved from marble, with a strong nose, defined cheekbones, and full lips. A short, gingery beard dusted his sharp chin. Long lashes covered his eyes as he focused on his instrument, plucking at the strings with an appendage that resembled his fish hook; she felt a tiny rush of pride when she noticed a few of the rings she’d gifted him on his fingers as they pressed on the upper end of it. 

And then he found her gaze with his ocean blue eyes and that was it. 

_For the troop was the first that ever I did see,_ _  
_ _And the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me._

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

He could scarcely believe she was actually there. Perhaps she was a vision, and he was finally succumbing to the hysteria that had surely claimed him years ago?

_When we met at the ball, I of course thought it right_ _  
_ _To pretend that we never had met until that night._

But no—she truly was there. He felt the dip of his boat as she rested her forearms on its side. He was trying to focus on playing but he kept stealing glances at her. 

_But he knew me at once, I perceived at a glance,_ _  
_ _So I hung down my head when he asked me to dance._

Though wet, he could tell her hair was a gold to rival the sun, and her eyes were as green as the hills. A sweet smile sat on pink lips the same hue as the blush rising in her cheeks and—and he finally understood why men fell for mermaids, and this one hadn’t even said a word. 

_He sat by my side at the end of the set,_ _  
_ _And the sweet words he told me, I never can forget._ _  
_ _For my heart was enlisted and could not get free_ _  
_ _When the captain with his whiskers took a sly glance at me._

There were more verses, but his heart was racing too fast to recall the lyrics, so he let the last note from his mandolin hang in the air while he worked up the courage to say something—anything. He felt as nervous and unsure as when he was a mere cadet in the navy; as if the years and their subsequent weathering of his soul and heart hadn’t happened. 

Right. He could do this. He was a man grown. So he took a deep breath, set aside his instrument, and turned in his seat to face her.

“It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, lass,” he said, and offered his hand for a proper introduction.

Her breath hitched and she backed away for a moment, and he was suddenly overcome with the fear that they quite possibly did not speak the same language. 

But then she grinned and reached out for him. “It is indeed,” she agreed. 

Her hand was small and cool in his, but still he moved closer to bring it to his lips; he may be a seaworn sailor, but there was still a gentleman in there somewhere. He made sure to not break her gaze as he did, and she blushed yet again; her subsequent giggle was no doubt caused by the tickle of his beard on her smooth skin, and honestly, it just endeared him to her even more.

“I’m Killian,” he told her after he pulled back, but he still held her hand.

“Emma,” she said. “And I’m a mermaid.”

He chuckled. “I gathered that.”

“You’re not frightened?”

“How could I be frightened of the creature who’s been leaving me treasures for the last several months?”

She shook her head. “Your music has been the real treasure; I feel like I’ve known you for ages.”

Now it was his turn to blush; he was no accomplished musician—though he enjoyed it, it was a mere hobby—but to find he’d been making a true connection through it was a bit surprising. But when he looked at her again, he realized that despite the physical barriers between them, she did have a familiar look in her gaze—the one a person got when they’d been left alone.

“My dear Emma,” he said, moving precariously closer, “the feeling is mutual.”

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

Emma was half-worried the boat would tip over, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Killian—gods below, that name was perfectly suited to him—dropped her hand and reached up to cup her face. His hand was warm and she wanted to melt into it—melt into him, if that were at all possible. 

Up close, she could see the depths of his eyes, not at all dissimilar from the sea around them, and she desperately wanted to get lost in them. She found herself pressing closer without thinking about it, holding tight to the edge of the boat to bring herself nearer.

She knew what she wanted to do, but didn’t know enough about human courtship to know if it was improper or not. “I have a question,” she decided to say.

“What’s that, love?”

She grinned at the endearment, and it spurred her on. “Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

“As you wish,” he smiled back.

She didn’t hesitate, then, to close what little distance remained and press her lips to his. It was soft and warm and wetter than she expected, considering she was the one who lived below the sea, but also rough around the edges, just like he appeared to be. In short: it was nothing she expected, but also perfect.

Sooner than she’d like, they broke apart for air; she’d forgotten that breathing was different above the surface. “That was…” he murmured, but then trailed off.

“...something I would like to do again,” she finished for him, hoping that might be what he wanted to say.

“Aye, very much,” he agreed.

So they did.

~~~~~~~~~ ☘ ~~~~~~~~~~

_Her eyes, they glittered like the stars_ _  
_ _That we call Mercury and Mars_ _  
_ _Or those bright comets from afar_ _  
_ _In their celestial reign_

From then on, it was not uncommon to see the pair floating together in the sea—or rather, one within and one on the surface, sharing music and company and above all, love.

_Heaven above was a glorious sight_ _  
_ _And the moon shone down its beaming light_ _  
_ _For to illume this beauty bright_ _  
_ _The Blooming Flower of Grange._

Killian never quite found a tune that fit them, as apparently no folk singer had been so moved to write of his love for a beautiful lass of the sea. (He’d attempt it at some point, but was also content to work his way through the book his love had bestowed upon him.)

_Her amber locks, in ringlets thick_ _  
_ _Flowed freely round her soft white neck_ _  
_ _And the rose that bloomed upon her cheek_ _  
_ _No winter wind could change_

Emma was more than content to spend her days floating alongside him (a few times hopping in the dinghy, which tended to result in them being rather more wet than the dryness they had intended). She still brought him baubles she came across, and he treasured every one.

_In sudden raptures of delight_ _  
_ _I then approached this beauty bright_   
_And my heart was stopped at the first sight_ _  
Of the Blooming Flower of Grange_

The men in the village thought them crazy, as did the other merfolk in the depths; but it didn’t matter to them—their love was too true to be undone by the musings of others.

To say they lived happily ever after would be cliche, and only the half of it, but that was how most stories of the sea went. And after some time, that’s what they became—a tall tale of their own.

Legend had it that on a clear day, one could still hear his voice ringing out across their little cove; catch the glint of her tail below the surface. The truth was lost to time, but the story of their love carried on alongside all the others.

**Author's Note:**

> The songs included in this, in order, are  
> I Am Stretched On Your Grave https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95I7t1znYFk  
> The Girl from Donegal https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0oC9J7mCH9M  
> She Moved Through The Fair https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-aDYNfdu6M4 (though you all probably know this version better https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgbPqUkLkX0 )  
> The Moorlough Shore https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EwUehRrC5c  
> The Captain With His Whiskers https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbKr0aYS2OE  
> The Blooming Flower of Grange https://soundcloud.com/fionnuala-maxwell/the-blooming-flower-of-grange 
> 
> and the title comes from "Cast a Hook in Me" by Laura Veirs https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yZGheh28D7o


End file.
